Connections
by baseballfan44
Summary: If Charlie ever even made it to Los Angeles, he'd be lucky. If he made it in time to see his brother, it'd be like striking it rich. Don-whump, Charlie-angst! Charlie/Amita, Don/Robin.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone! NUMB3RS may be over, but I'm glad to see that its fanfiction is not.

So here's my contribution, just a one-shot baby that (holy cow, this fic would NOT stop growing, no matter how hard I tried to contain it!) grew into a freakin' MONSTER (no longer a one-shot but a three chapter fic) featuring my personal favorite, Don-whump and Charlie-angst! Also, if I have any information about England wrong, I'm sorry. I've never been to England (although I'd really love to someday) and I have no idea what it's like there. So I guessed. I also don't know much about buying airline tickets and how far in advance you can buy them, and what airlines do in certain situations, so I took a few liberties there in order to make my story work the way I wanted. If it's not 100% realistic, then...well...at least I tried. And after all, it _is_ my story, right? :)

Oh, and Robin makes a brief appearance in this story. I've said before that I don't like her, but (oh, I can NOT believe I am admitting this out loud)...she's grown on me and I like her now. There, I said it!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything NUMB3RSish. Although I feel as if I can take more liberties with their lives now that it's...sniff, sniff...over.

**Connections**

* * *

June 23, 2010  
Cambridge, UK  
Local Time: 6:22 a.m.

He absentmindedly fingered her long black hair, stroking gently so as not to wake her. Her dark hair was a big contrast to the sheer whiteness of their bedroom with its white curtains, white bedsheets, and even the clothes they were wearing were all white. She was curled up, head resting on his shoulder as he lay on his back. Charlie smiled; although it had been three months, he could hardly believe that he and Amita were now officially Mr. and Mrs. Eppes. And here they were, living Charlie's other lifelong dream: teaching at Cambridge, if only for a short while. In six months, at the end of the fall semester, Charlie and his bride would board a plane home back to Pasadena, back to real life.

_Real life_, Charlie scoffed silently. _It's not like this is a fairy tale or anything. Although sometimes it sure feels like one._ Just a few short months ago, Charlie's life consisted of teaching some classes, planning a wedding, and trying to squeeze in some other professional duties around consulting almost every week for the FBI. Now suddenly here he was, in England of all places, far from home and the people he knew (well, aside from Amita, of course) living out a dream. He knew this was a time of his life he'd remember forever.

Amita shifted slightly under him. He peered down to see her brown eyes blinking in the morning sunlight that was already much higher than he was used to, given that the sun rose about an hour earlier here than in California. In the back of his mind, Charlie noted how it was already a perfect summer day. He smiled at her in silent greeting, grin growing bigger as she smiled back.

"Good morning," he uttered quietly.

"Morning," she returned, smiling up at him. "What should we have for breakfast today?"

"Hmm. I don't know," Charlie answered. "You choose."

Amita bit her lip as she thought, something Charlie had noticed she did quite often and found incredibly cute. "Well, we could try that cafe down the street we've been meaning to try since we got here."

Charlie nodded, still gazing into his wife's eyes. "Perfect."

Charlie and Amita lay where they were in bed for a few more moments in silence, both comfortable and neither willing to ruin the perfect moment. Amita was the first one to move, sitting up over the edge of the bed.

"I'll get dressed first," she announced.

"What's wrong with what you've got on?" Charlie teased, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

"Charlie," Amita gently chided, as she looked down at her all-white, revealing, summer nightgown. She laughed a little, which set Charlie to chuckling himself. Amita rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go get dressed." As she stood up, she picked her pillow up and lightly tossed it on Charlie's face.

"Hey!" Charlie protested, laughing. He launched the pillow back at her head, hitting her square in the back of her head.

"Okay, that's it!" Amita giggled. "You're going down, mister."

"Oh yeah?" Charlie challenged. "You and what army?"

"This army," Amita replied. She picked up her pillow off the floor, as well as another pillow off the bed and squished them both into Charlie's face. It wasn't long before the married couple was engaged in a full-on pillow fight, each laughing until their stomachs hurt.

* * *

10:43 a.m.

"Charlie, I am just _so_ not surprised you left your phone here," Amita's voice flooded the apartment (or flat, as the locals called them) as the door opened and the couple let themselves in. "I'm sure you do that at least once a week, even at home."

"I realize that," Charlie agreed. "But I really do wish I could have taken a picture of that guy in his ridiculous outfit and sent it to Don. He would have totally gotten a kick out of it."

Amita put a hand on his shoulder. "Well, maybe next time, Charlie." She walked over to the table next to the couch. "Here, I found it. It was charging." She unplugged the cell phone and handed it to Charlie. "Looks like you missed a call."

Charlie looked at his front screen, noting that he did indeed have a voicemail. He dialed his inbox, put in his password, and waited for the message, grinning back at Amita.

"_Charlie, it's Dad,_" came a voice through the speaker, followed by a pause of several seconds.

"It's my dad," Charlie told Amita upon seeing her questioning glance, goofy smile still dominating his features. It fleetingly crossed his mind that for Alan to have called since they went to breakfast, it had to have been about one in the morning in California.

_"It's Donnie,_" Alan's voice continued._ "He's been shot. In the leg. It got infected...he's really sick. I don't know, Charlie."_ Charlie could hear his father's voice breaking from thousands of miles away. _"It's a little touch and go right now, uh...I think maybe you should come."_

Amita watched her husband with concern as his wonderfully boyish grin gradually slid off his face, morphing in to an expression of deep fear and worry. It wasn't until he suddenly tossed the phone away, onto the floor, as if it were hot metal burning his hand that she moved forward towards him.

"Charlie, what is it? What's wrong?" she demanded, laying a hand on his shoulder as before, but not as playfully.

"Don was shot," he uttered, almost too quietly for her to hear. Once it registered in her mind, she was sure her face mirrored Charlie's.

"Is...is he okay?" she ventured, not too sure Charlie had a good answer that they could live with.

He shook his head before he spoke. "I don't know. Dad said it's...touch and go right now. God, how did this happen?"

"I think maybe you should go," Amita unknowingly parroted Alan's earlier plea from the message. When Charlie didn't answer, she added, "I mean, Don's strong. He's going to be okay, Charlie. But I bet you being there with him will help. At least while he's recovering."

"How are you so sure he's going to be okay?" Charlie demanded angrily.

"I'm just trying to be positive, Charlie," Amita replied quietly. "And it's true, Don is strong. If anyone can pull through, he can. Do you know what his chances are?"

Charlie shook his head. "Dad didn't say. And that's what worries me."

Amita understood what was left unsaid: that numbers would help Charlie not worry, so if Alan didn't give any, that means they weren't good.

* * *

June 24, 2010  
London Gatwick Airport  
8:15 a.m.

Charlie was about as fidgety as a five-year old boy. His flight was to begin boarding in a few minutes for a 9:00 departure for Atlanta, Georgia where he would connect to Los Angeles. Much of the previous day was spent fighting and arguing and trying so hard to get a plane ticket home. Having done a quick Internet search with Amita after first hearing his father's message, Charlie discovered the best he could hope for was an early morning flight the next day out of an airport slightly farther away.

The first thing Charlie had done after this was to return his father's phone call.

_Charlie nervously bounced his leg up and down as he sat on the couch, drawing strength from Amita's gaze. The phone rang three times before finally being picked up._

_"Hello?" a clearly distressed voice answered._

_"Dad," Charlie sighed in relief. "I got your message. I'm going to get there as soon as I can. I think it's going to be impossible to get a flight before tomorrow, but I don't know."_

_"Oh, Charlie," Alan breathed. "It's okay, just please, get here soon."_

_Charlie could detect the desperation in Alan's voice, although he knew his father would never openly admit how much he needed his younger son with him. _

_"I'm coming, Dad," he replied. "How's he doing?"_

_"Charlie, it's just not looking good. His fever just keeps getting worse and worse. The doctor's trying everything he can think of to cool him off, but we're almost getting to the point of no return. He's pretty unresponsive; the fever's so high he's becoming delirious."_

Oh, Don,_ Charlie thought with despair. "Dad, I'm leaving for the airport right now. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can get a flight home tonight."_

Looking back, Charlie scoffed. Some plan that had turned out to be. He had left for the airport, as soon as he could pack a quick bag. He and Amita agreed that she would stay behind, taking care of things with the university and everything else. She would fly out later only if the unthinkable happened.

Knowing the morning flight from London Gatwick Airport was his best shot, Charlie went straight there instead of trying any other airports. In hindsight, it hadn't been the best idea. For all he knew he could have gotten a ticket somewhere else for a much earlier flight. After begging and pleading with the lady at the ticket counter, Charlie sighed in defeat at the cruelty of it all and bought a ticket for 9:00 the next morning. He'd gone to a hotel nearby, spent the night not sleeping but worrying about Don and calling his dad regularly for updates. By the time this morning had rolled around, there was no new news about Don.

So now Charlie sat, more antsy than ever in his life, just outside the gate that he would soon walk through and be carried back across the ocean to his home country, to his home, to his brother.

During one of his nocturnal phone calls home, Alan had filled Charlie in on the sparse details of what had transpired. It had been a simple raid, nothing out of the ordinary. A man had kidnapped a six-year-old boy, and Larry had mathematically discovered their location. What Larry didn't account for, however, was an unknown accomplice the FBI had no idea about: the kidnapper's girlfriend. She had quite literally appeared out of nowhere, taking Don and Liz, who he was partnered up with, totally by surprise.

This mysterious girlfriend had held them at gunpoint, telling them to get on their radios and report that the room they were in was all clear. When they refused, she had gotten hysterically angry. Charlie didn't quite know what the full story was after that, but he knew it ended with the girlfriend shooting Don in the leg.

Apparently, Don had been conscious, aware, and responsive all the way up until the doctors had put him under for surgery to remove the bullet. They had wanted to keep him overnight to make sure the wound didn't become infected. Clearly, that did not happen. By the next morning, Don had a fever that wasn't too high, but high enough for his doctor to keep him at the hospital to deal with the infection.

That had been Wednesday morning in LA. It was a little past midnight that night when Alan had called Charlie. Now, it was twenty-four hours later and Don's condition was pretty much the same, if not a little worse.

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn't sleep on the plane. He tried to occupy himself by scribbling random equations in a notebook he had purchased at a gift shop a couple hundred feet away from where he currently sat. His heart wasn't in it though, and he gave up with a dramatic slam of the cover, drawing the attention of the elderly lady across the aisle. He gave her an apologetic smile and quickly looked away.

_Don would be able to charm that lady into not glaring at him like that with just a smile,_ Charlie thought to himself sadly. _If Don makes it through this, that is_.

A new thought came unbidden into Charlie's mind. _What if I had been there?_ Charlie chewed at his lip. Maybe _he_ could have predicted that there was a second person.

It occurred to Charlie that this was sounding an awful lot like the situation just over a year ago that had ended with Don in the hospital, suffering from a stab wound. Charlie knew he had never looked at a case quite the same way after that, never wanting a repeat of those few dark days. But this time, Charlie hadn't been there to stop it.

_This is all my fault._ Charlie buried his face in his hands, biting back the tears that threatened to fall. _And it's too soon. Don was just almost fatally stabbed last year._

He spent a few minutes trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. At one point, he peered at his watch, which read 8:36. _Of course._ Twenty-four minutes until departure, and they hadn't started boarding yet. They didn't even look like they were trying to start boarding. _Great. Just great.  
_

_

* * *

_3:10 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time  
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

It was silly, but Charlie thought that if he leaned forward, he could make the plane go faster. With each passing minute, his anxiety grew as did the butterflies in his stomach. As it turned out, his flight had been delayed for two hours for mechanical problems. Nothing serious, just a malfunctioning lavatory. Charlie had been enormously irritated. Why in the world would they have to delay everyone just for a stupid broken toilet? Just because some agency required all lavatories to be working? It's not like it was a small plane; there were many other lavatories on the plane. Just thinking about it made Charlie's blood boil.

Now, if he made it to Atlanta in time for his connecting flight at 4:30 flight to Los Angeles, he'd be lucky. Didn't they understand that his brother could be dying? It was so frustrating, he could bang his head repeatedly into the seat in front of him if it wouldn't disturb the woman sitting there.

He had tried watching the in-flight movie, but he couldn't concentrate. He was fidgeting so much that the elderly lady next to him kept shooting him exasperated glances every now and then. Especially now, as the flight had somewhere less than an hour to go.

Charlie sighed and looked at his watch again. _After making it through customs, I'm only going to have...oh shoot. _He would never make it. He heard a slight whimpering noise, before he realized that it came from him. _Get a grip, Eppes._

"Gonna miss your next flight?" the old lady next to him asked.

Charlie looked at her and nodded. "I think so. It's not looking good." He turned slightly and looked out the window, as if he could will land to appear beneath them instead of the empty blue ocean.

"Yeah, me too," she replied. "Stinks, too. My granddaughter is getting married tomorrow. Looks like I'm going to miss her rehearsal dinner. What about you, where are you going?"

"Uh," Charlie hesitated. "Well, I'm going to, uh..." he swallowed. "I'm going to see my brother. He's in the hospital."

"Oh," the woman said, in a knowing voice. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope everything works out for you."

Charlie smiled at the woman, but a little halfheartedly. "Thank you."

The plane ride was pretty silent after that.

* * *

4:34 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time  
Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

Charlie never realized that one's heart could _literally_ sink, but he was pretty sure that's what his had done. He stared out the window, despair creeping through his heart. If only he had run a little bit faster. If only the customs officials worked a little bit faster. If only his plane from London had flown just a little bit faster. If only the stupid maintenance people had fixed the plane's lavatory just a little bit faster, then maybe, _just maybe,_ he would have caught his flight to Los Angeles. As it was, Charlie was about ready to throw his carry-on at the glass window as he watched his plane back away from the jetway. If he had been there just two minutes ago, he could have talked his way into letting them board at such a last minute.

_All I would have had to tell them is that I'm going home to see my dying brother,_ Charlie thought with disgust as he walked up to the airline workers at the gate. His mission: tell them he missed that flight and that he needed to be on the very next plane to Los Angeles.

"Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?" greeted the frighteningly cheerful young woman at the desk.

"Hi. I was supposed to be on that plane that just left, but I'm late because my last flight was late and I _need_ to be on the very next flight to Los Angeles." Charlie's words came out in a desperate rush.

"Okay, sir," said the woman. She started looking things up on her computer, and after a brief pause, she turned back to Charlie. "All the flights today from this airline are booked."

Charlie sighed angrily. "Well, is there another airline that can see fit to squeeze me in? I don't really care!"

The woman, whose name tag read Hayley, looked taken aback. "Um, well, I suppose I can check around, sir. We'll get this straightened out, don't worry."

"Oh, I'm worried all right," Charlie snapped before he could stop himself. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just that this is a family emergency. I really need to be in Los Angeles as soon as virtually possible." His voice had taken on a pleading quality.

"I understand, sir," Hayley replied. "We'll do everything we can."

Twenty minutes later, Charlie could feel a slight headache coming on. Hayley searched through the airport departures for Los Angeles, and after finding full flight after full flight, things weren't looking good. _Why does everyone have to be flying to Los Angeles today of all days? _He glanced at his watch, a la Don. _Just hang in there, Don, I'm coming.__  
_

"Whoa, hang on," Hayley suddenly announced. "I have an idea, if you don't mind us getting a little creative." She looked at Charlie, and when she had his full attention, she continued. "There's a flight to Salt Lake City in like an hour and a half that isn't full. From there, there is a flight to Los Angeles a couple hours after that I can book you on right now. No extra cost. You'll be home by like, midnight, Pacific time."

"Done," Charlie slapped his hand on the counter for emphasis.

"All righty then!" Hayley said.

Five minutes later, Charlie was almost running to another gate. When he got there, he was nearly breathless. Hayley sent him to the new gate's flight counter to get his new boarding passes printed. The ladies there were very nice like Hayley, and Charlie soon had a boarding pass for his new flight. Finally, he had a moment to breathe.

TBC

* * *

Well, there's the first part. I hope my chapters flow together well. For some reason I chopped them off in the middle of scenes, hoping to make it more dramatic. Tell me what you think! If there's anything in this world I'm addicted to, it's reviews! Please don't put me through withdrawals. :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey, all! I'm glad to see some positive response so far. Here's part 2. It's a little shorter, but the third and final chapter is much longer. I hope you enjoy, and as always, please leave a review at the end.

* * *

4:52 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time  
Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

Charlie wandered over to a giant pillar and leaned against it, his heart still pounding. He closed his eyes and fought off the sudden lump forming in his throat.

It was soon clear that he'd lost that battle. A small sob managed to escape him. _This whole day is just so damn frustrating!_ he thought. He slid down the pillar until he was sitting and the tears began to fall.

Charlie wasn't sure how long he sat there and cried, but it soon occurred to him that he should call his father and let him know he'd be later than expected. He took a few shaky breaths and stood up like nothing had happened, although surely there had been a few people staring at him. He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to look to find out. Making his way to the men's room, Charlie wiped a hand over his eyes to dry them.

Once inside the bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. _God, I look like I've lived through a series of tornadoes. _Then again, he hadn't slept in several nights now, he had been on an airplane, and he had just spent seven minutes sitting on the floor, crying his eyes out in the middle of an airport.

He turned on the faucet and rinsed off his face. After drying himself off with a paper towel, he looked in the mirror again. He didn't look much better, but at least now he was presentable. Charlie still looked like he'd been crying. His eyes were bloodshot and a little watery. He shook his head at his reflection in defeat, sniffed, and left the bathroom.

Charlie slowly meandered along until he reached the giant pillar he had cried at earlier, and sat down on the floor again. Only this time, instead of losing control, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his father's number.

"Hello?" Alan answered. Charlie thought his father sounded as exhausted as he felt.

"Hey, Dad," Charlie breathed.

"Hey, Charlie, what's up?"

"Oh, Dad," Charlie sighed. "My flight from London was late, so I missed my flight to Los Angeles and now I have to connect through Salt Lake City, and I won't land until about midnight. I'm so sorry, Dad!" He felt his eyes burning again with tears, and he could feel his breathing pick up.

Alan must have been able to sense his distress. "Oh, Charlie, it's okay. There wasn't anything you could do about it. It's not your fault, okay, Charlie?"

_Are we still talking about the flights? _Charlie briefly wondered. "If I had just been there, maybe I would have predicted-"

"No, Charlie," Alan cut him off. "You can't go down that road. You just can't, okay? We can't think about the 'what-ifs'. All we can think about is helping Don now."

An unexpected sob broke through Charlie.

"Charlie," Alan began again. "Charlie, it's okay, son. Just take a few deep breaths. You're okay."

Heeding his father's advice, Charlie took a few seconds just breathing in and out. "I'm sorry, Dad," he managed.

"It's okay, Charlie. You don't have to apologize for anything, you hear me?"

Right then, Charlie wished so much that his father were physically with him. He was a grown man, thirty-four years old, and all he really wanted at that moment was for his father to be able to put his arms around him and comfort him as if he were a small child.

After taking a few more moments to compose himself, Charlie asked his father another important question. "So, uh, is Don doing any better?"

He could hear Alan sigh. "No, Charlie, he's not. His doctor doesn't think Don will make it until the morning."

All of Charlie's internal organs plummeted. "No."

"I'm so sorry, Charlie," Alan apologized. "I know you're upset right now, and I just wish I had better news for you."

"Oh, Dad, what am I supposed to do?" Charlie was aware he sounded much like the little boy he felt like at the moment. "How can I sit here in this airport, and then in Salt Lake, not doing anything except for thinking about how I might never see my brother again?"

Charlie could hear his father take in a shaky breath. "I don't know, Charlie. It'll be kind of like how I can sit here watching one of my sons die while my other son is out there somewhere upset and trying so hard to get here."

"Well, maybe the doctor is wrong anyway," Charlie said, his voice holding much more confidence than he felt. "I mean, the numbers prove it. Don defies the odds all the time. He's a statistical phenomenon; he always has been. It's almost a weird paradox, in a way. Don has been an anomaly so many times that the odds now favor him being one. It's funny, though, how the odds can favor something defying the odds."

Alan gave a small chuckle. "That sounds like your brother, all right."

Charlie allowed himself a small smile, although he knew his father wouldn't see it. "Well, maybe I should let you go now. Don needs you more than I do."

"All right, Charlie," Alan agreed. "Why don't you call and check in when you get to Salt Lake City? Maybe I'll have something more to tell you about Don at that point."

"Okay," Charlie replied. "I'll call you in Salt Lake. And, uh, Dad?"

"Yes, Charlie?"

"Uh," Charlie faltered. "I love you, Dad."

He could almost see his father's smile over the phone. "I love you too, Charlie. I'll talk to you later. Oh, and Charlie?"

"Yeah, Dad?" Charlie asked a little warily.

"Make sure you eat something," Alan ordered. "You're going to need some strength."

_He really knows me too well._ "Okay, Dad. I'll get something before my flight."

"Okay, good," said Alan. "Bye, son."

"Bye." Charlie flipped his phone shut and took a deep breath as it really hit him for the first time. There was a strong possibility he would never see his brother again, and if he did, it might only be for a short amount of time.

He just wish there was something he could do. For all his mathematical abilities, and his hands were completely tied.

* * *

11:47 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time  
Somewhere above Southern California

Charlie could have peed his pants with anticipation. He was seated in a window seat, right next to the aircraft's wing. The window had smudges from where Charlie had his face smashed against the window, looking below at the night lights of the Los Angeles area. One of those buildings, somewhere down there, was the hospital that currently held his brother. _So close, yet so far, _Charlie thought to himself.

_And yet, it will still be a couple hours before I'm there._ Charlie glanced down at his watch, surprised to realize what time it was. It was nearly 8 a.m. in England meaning it had been twenty-four hours since he was sitting in the airport, waiting to leave. After twenty-four hours of traveling, he should be tired, but he wasn't. He supposed it was the sense of urgency that had hung around him all day like a perfume. It was almost like an adrenaline rush.

He had called his father again in Salt Lake. The bad news was, Don was still not expected to last through the night. The good news was that for the moment, he was still alive. But that had been almost three hours ago. A lot could happen in three hours. For all Charlie knew, Don was already-

_No. Don't think that._ It was so hard to stay positive though, when he hadn't seen Don for himself.

Noise filled the cabin of the plane as the landing gear hit the runway. _One step closer._ Charlie wanted to be off the plane as quick as possible. He hadn't checked any bags (thank goodness, or they probably would have gotten lost with all the flight changes), so he'd beat the rest of the passengers on his flight outside. He was going to need to catch a cab; he didn't want to ask his father to leave Don to come pick him up. If he got down to the street entrance first, he would beat out any other potential cab-seekers. He just hoped he had enough cash to make it to the hospital where Don was.

A few minutes later, Charlie was nearly running down the escalator and out the automatic sliding doors. Once outside, Charlie walked up and down the sidewalk, but oddly enough, he couldn't find a cab anywhere.

For once, this was an easily fixable problem. All he had to do was call for one. But still, it would take another few minutes that Charlie (or Don, really) just didn't have. And after so many delays, something had to give. If it was midnight, he was supposed to have been here six hours ago.

Thankfully, Charlie had the good sense to take his anger out on his bag with the clothes in it and not the one with his laptop on it. He threw the bag on the ground forcefully and gave it a few hard kicks of frustration as he pulled out his cell phone.

"Why me?" Charlie whimpered, talking to no one in particular. "My brother is _dying_ for Christ's sake! Why is the world against me seeing him now?"

"Not anymore, Charlie," a voice called out.

TBC

* * *

Okay, that's all for today. And yes, it's short, but this is where I really wanted to leave it. Next part will be up in about 24 hours or so. Hope you enjoyed and PLEASE REVIEW! Pretty please? With a cherry on top?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well, here is the final chapter. Thank you all for coming on this ride! Thanks to all who have reviewed. And those of you who have read but not reviewed, I would love to hear your thoughts! Don't be shy, I don't bite.

So, without further ado, now to find out who found Charlie beating up his luggage outside the airport . . .

* * *

June 25, 2010  
12:09 a.m.  
Los Angeles International Airport

Charlie, startled, whipped around to find the source of the voice. He sighed and closed his phone when he realized that it was Don's former second-in-command, David Sinclair.

"David!" Charlie cried. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick you up," David told him. "I went to the hospital to ask your dad if there was anything I could do. He said you were probably planning to catch a cab to the hospital, but we figured you'd probably want to see a familiar face."

Charlie was confused. "But I thought you moved to D.C.!"

"I did," David clarified. "To make a long story short, I was here on vacation time to take back the rest of my stuff I had left in storage. Coincidentally, I just happened to be there when . . . well, you know."

Charlie smiled a sad smile. "Well, thanks, David. I really appreciate this, more than you know."

David clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Charlie. Let's go see Don."

Feeling more hopeful than he had all day, Charlie picked up his bag-turned-punching-bag and followed David towards the parking garage. "So, Don's still...I mean he's not..."

"Don's still alive," David assured him. "I don't know for how long, but Alan did say he'd call me if anything happened while I was picking you up. So I guess with they way things stand now, no news is good news."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed quietly. "No news is good news."

* * *

12:54 a.m.  
UCLA Hospital

When David led him down the hallway, the first person Charlie saw was Robin, Don's fiancee. She saw him too, and set her coffee down on an end table. The two embraced in a long, sad, meaningful hug.

"Charlie," she breathed. "Thank God you're here."

They broke apart, and Charlie nodded before turning to look at David. "Thank you so much for everything, David."

David nodded, but remained silent.

"You probably want to see Don now." Robin took Charlie by the hand and began leading him down a long corridor. Suddenly, she stopped in front of a door but instead of opening it, she turned to face Charlie. "Charlie, I don't even know what I'm going to do if-"

Charlie cut her off. "I don't know either. I don't even want to think about it. Not if there's even the slightest chance that he'll make it."

Robin nodded and opened the door, thus ending Charlie's endless journey to reach his brother. Now, a new journey would begin, a journey that would hopefully end with Don being happy and healthy. What the odds of that were, even Charlie could only begin to calculate.

Alan stood immediately from his chair at Don's bedside and rushed over to where Charlie and Robin stood in the doorway.

"Charlie!" Alan exclaimed quietly. "Oh, son, I'm so glad to see you."

"You too," Charlie replied softly, tears threatening to fall for what felt like the billionth time that day. "I thought I was never going to make it. Now it's been like forty-eight hours since you called. Thank God Don was able to hang on at least that long."

Alan regarded him sadly. "Yeah, Charlie. His fever's so high. I mean, sometimes he's woken up, but he hasn't been lucid for a couple days now. Everything he says is completely incoherent. It's . . . well, it's a little scary."

Charlie didn't answer, but instead he looked behind his father and caught his first glimpse of his big brother. What he saw nearly took his breath away. In the bed lay Don, surrounded by so many tubes and wires. Adorning his face was a nasal cannula, and his nearly translucent skin was a glaring contrast to his dark hair. _Oh Don, what have they done to you?_

Don's leg lay propped up and was swaddled in a thick layer disturbingly white bandages. The whole scene nearly made Charlie sick. _Not as sick as Don, though,_ Charlie thought sadly.

Charlie found the chair next to Don's bed that Alan sat in previously. He sat in it and grabbed his brother's right hand, the hand not invaded by IV lines. His eyes were hot with tears once again, only this time Charlie knew he didn't have to hide it in order to not make people think he was insane. When a few tears escaped, he didn't even try to stop them. Soon, he felt his father's soothing hand on his shoulder, rubbing back and forth. Finally, Charlie was here where he needed to be.

* * *

2:17 a.m.  
Don's room

A man entered the room, barging in completely unannounced. Charlie assumed him to be Don's doctor. _Wow_, Charlie thought. _This guy must be fairly dedicated to his job if he's here after two in the morning. Kind of reminds me of Don._

"Dr. Heller," Alan greeted, standing up to shake the man's hand. "This is my younger son, Don's brother Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie," Dr. Heller shook Charlie's hand. "I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"Likewise," Charlie managed.

Dr. Heller didn't beat around the bush; he dove right in, a quality Charlie decided he liked. "I've been carefully monitoring Don's condition for most of the night now. He's just not getting any better. He's not getting worse, but he can't actually get much worse. His fever has absolutely skyrocketed. I told you earlier, Alan, that I didn't expect Don to make it through the night."

"But. . . " Alan prompted.

"No but," Dr. Heller corrected. "And. And I'm just here to tell you now that, well, it's going to happen within the next couple of hours, I'd say. I just want you to know, that if I were you, I'd get my goodbyes in while I can."

Alan nodded, and Charlie felt betrayed. _He's just giving up?_ "Goodbye?" he protested. "What? No. There's still a chance that he could-"

Dr. Heller cut him off. "At this point, I'd have to disagree. Now, I appreciate your positive attitude. Usually patients need for their families to have that kind of an outlook to help them fight. But in this particular case, I just don't think Don has the fight in him anymore. Not since he's been fighting it for days straight now with no break."

"You know what?" Alan spoke up. "I think Charlie's right. You don't know my son. He's got more fight in his little pinkie than he's even used up by now. No sir, Don is not done yet. But, if you don't mind, we would like to each have a moment alone with him and let him know how we feel about him. Don may be extremely feverish and delirious, but he's still in there. And he hasn't given up. All he needs from us is a little encouragement."

_Go Dad, go!_ Charlie felt triumphant and let loose a small little smile. He figured Dr. Heller must have known how to pick his battles, because he didn't pursue the issue. _Wise man. I wouldn't want to go up against Dad when he's like this._

"Okay," Dr. Heller conceded. "But I am going to have to insist that from here on out, he only have one visitor at a time. If something does happen, it'll be harder for us to help him if we have to clear out a crowded room."

"Yes, we can do that," Alan agreed. "Charlie, you can go first, okay? Just talk to him; make sure he knows you're here."

Charlie swallowed. "Yeah, okay." He hesitated, watching Alan and Dr. Heller start to leave. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, Charlie?" When Alan turned around, Charlie could see that the exhaustion and worry had invaded his father's face, causing him to look much older than he was. _I must look pretty similar,_ Charlie thought, remembering how awful he looked in the airport bathroom mirror in Atlanta.

"Uh, what am I supposed to talk about?" he asked uncertainly.

Alan smiled a sad smile. "It doesn't matter, Charlie. Tell him how much you love him. Tell him about how worried you are. Tell him about England. It doesn't matter. It's your voice he needs, not the words."

Charlie nodded, but didn't reply. Alan left, shutting the door behind him, leaving Charlie alone with Don for the first time since before he left for England three months prior. He sat down next to his brother and grabbed his hand, rubbing it absentmindedly. He took a moment to take in his brother's condition.

Don's face was pale and sweaty, his brow furrowed as if with concern. Charlie figured he must be dreaming. The mathematician had never seen anyone so sick before; when his mother had cancer he had shut himself in the garage working on P vs. NP for months, so he wasn't really a witness to the worst of her illness. He reached a hand up to Don's forehead.

"Oh, Don," Charlie sighed. "What did they do to you?" He'd never felt skin so hot before. Ironically, the extreme heat he felt made Charlie shiver.

"I can't believe this happened," Charlie murmured softly. "So soon after you were stabbed, too. Well, even you probably could figure out what those odds are." He smirked half-heartedly, staring down at his brother's hand joined with his. "But, like I was telling Dad earlier, the odds pretty much favor you beating the odds. Doesn't really make sense, does it?"

He snorted. "So that's why I think you're going to be just fine, Don. Because the odds are against it. Wow, I didn't think I'd ever hear myself say that, did you?"

Don shifted, letting out a soft, almost inaudible moan. "Shh," Charlie soothed. "You're okay. You have to be. I don't even know...what I'm going to do if you're not."

That thought put knots in Charlie stomach. _How would I deal if Don's not okay?_ Before he knew it, a sob escaped his throat, but he continued to talk.

"We've, uh, we've gotten pretty close lately. Even since I've been in England, we've been in closer contact than we were before you moved back to L.A. almost seven years ago. Man, things were so different between us back then."

_This is so much harder than I imagined it would be._ For all the time Charlie spent the past couple of days trying and failing to get home quickly, a small part of him now wished he could just bolt. He wanted to run away from all that was happening and pretend for just a moment that nothing was wrong. He wished this had never happened; he wished he was still in Cambridge with Amita, living happily with no worries. _Geez, how selfish does that sound?_ It occurred to Charlie that things were worse for Don. Even if he did manage to pull through, his older brother had quite a recovery ahead of him. From what Alan had told him, if Don didn't die first, it would take him some time to regain strength after being so ill. Then there was the issue of his leg. Alan had said the damage was extensive; Don would be lucky if he could learn to walk properly again. And for an FBI agent like Don, that could mean the end of his career.

"I'm really glad we're like friends now," Charlie managed to choke out. "It's been so great. But I'm . . . I'm just not ready to give this up yet. I need you, Don." He took a couple of shaky breaths before he could continue. "You absolutely cannot give up on this yet. You have to hang on." He paused again. _Oh, man. I can't handle this._ "When we were kids, I needed you to protect me and you did. When we were adults and I began working for the FBI, I needed you and you were there. Okay, Don? I still need you in my life. I mean . . . what am I supposed to do without you? Who's . . . who's going to call me Chuck and poke fun at me when I need cheered up? Who's going to have my back, Don?"

_Who's going to protect me from anything, no matter what? _Until this moment, even Charlie hadn't known how much he needed his brother.

Another thought occurred to him. "I sound so selfish, don't I? Well, it isn't just me. Can you imagine how crushed Robin would be if you gave up? I remember when I almost lost Amita. For a moment, we thought she had been in that Jeep that blew up. It was the worst feeling in the world, thinking that the woman I loved most in the world was no longer here and I'd never see her again. It was awful, and Robin would be feeling the exact same way. Don't do that to her."

Charlie spotted a rag on a table on the opposite side of the room. He stood up to retrieve it, continuing his speech. "And Dad. Oh man, what about Dad?" There was a sink in the corner, which Charlie used to wet the rag. "He just lost Mom a few years ago. If he lost his son, his child, I don't think he'd ever recover. He's already getting older. This could push him to the edge. You know what I mean."

He sat down with the wet rag, and began rubbing Don's forehead with it. "See? There would be so much grief going around if you gave up now." _It would crush us all; we'd drown in it._

Charlie reached up to wipe a few stray tears off of his cheek. "Well, that's enough of that. You know what you have to do. Maybe now I'll just tell you all about England."

* * *

9:34 a.m.  
UCLA Waiting Room

"Charlie?" A voice penetrated through Charlie's subconscious, pulling him from the depths of sleep. "Charlie, wake up!"

Charlie blinked open his eyes. _Ugh. That was the best sleep of my life and now I'm being woken up? Not fair._ Suddenly he remembered where he was and why, so he quickly sat up and looked at his father, letting his face ask the question he was dying to know the answer to.

"Sorry, Charlie," Alan rubbed his younger son's shoulder. "I know you had to have been really tired. You were up for almost three days straight. But I just thought you'd want to know that it's morning, and Don's still with us."

Charlie nodded vigorously. _Thank God. There's hope._ "Yeah? Is he any better? How is he?"

Alan smiled a little. "Well, he's not out of the woods yet, but his fever's down to 104.7. Geez, normally I'd say that sounded really high, but considering what it was . . . " His voice trailed off.

Charlie shuddered inwardly. "Yeah, I know what you mean." Something dawned on Charlie. "Oh, shoot, Dad."

"What is it, Charlie?" Alan furrowed his brow.

"Oh, dear. I told Amita I would call her when I landed in L.A." Charlie stood up and rubbed his face.

"Oh," Alan chuckled a little. "Well, then I guess you'd better call her. She's probably worried sick. I'll give you two some privacy. Robin's with Don right now, so I'll go see if I can get something to eat."

Charlie watched his father walk away before he pulled out his cell phone. _Dad seems cheerful this morning. Don really must be doing better, or he's just really hopeful._ Then again, Charlie had only been there one night. He didn't know exactly how bad things had been before that.

He dialed Amita's number and waited, stifling a chuckle at her greeting.

"Charlie?" Amita's frantic voice said. "Thank God, I've been so worried! I called you like seven times!"

"Amita, I'm really sorry," Charlie apologized. "I know I said I'd call, but I rushed to look for a taxi, then I didn't find one, but then David showed up out of nowhere and I was so relieved I just . . . forgot. Amita, I am so sorry."

"It's okay, Charlie," Amita accepted. "I understand. You're stressed about Don, you weren't thinking. I'm just glad you're okay." There was a pause when Charlie heard Amita sigh. "How is Don, anyways?"

"I really don't know," Charlie admitted. "He wasn't even supposed to make it through last night, but he did, and his fever's down a little.

Amita laughed softly. "See? I was right. Remember what I told you before you left? I told you that Don is strong, and that you being there would help. And since you got there, Don's shown improvement for the first time, right?"

Charlie grinned for the first time in days. "Yeah, you did say that. And it seems you were right."

"Well, I do have a PhD from a very prestigious university that I now teach at," Amita said slyly. "Just remember that."

Charlie laughed out loud. "Yeah. You might be almost as smart as me."

"Almost?" Amita protested, and Charlie laughed.

* * *

July 13, 2010  
Local time: 5:13 p.m.  
Eppes Residence, Pasadena, CA

Charlie couldn't help but smirk to himself as he turned his attention on the TV. He was watching, or at least trying to watch, the major league baseball All-Star game. The first pitch had been thrown about ten minutes prior, and Charlie could already tell the players were feeling the Southern California heat, as the game this year was in Anaheim. However, seeing was about all Charlie could do, because the sound of the announcers' play-by-play was currently being drowned out by some loud snoring.

_This will be good blackmail material later,_ Charlie thought, grin spreading wide across his face. _I never realized Don snored so much._

Then again, Charlie couldn't remember the last time he had seen Don sleep so much. He was still weakened by the infection that had ravaged his body, leaving behind almost nothing. It had been another couple of days after that first hopeful morning before Don had shown significant enough improvement to be considered "out of the woods". However, even as the fever dropped and Don became lucid, the infection had left him weak and tired.

Don had finally been released from the hospital five days ago, still much weaker than he had been before the shooting. He was better though, Charlie had noted. Don was able to stay awake for longer periods of time. Soon, though, his leg would be healed enough to start physical therapy. That's when Charlie knew the real recovery would begin. If Charlie knew Don, and by now he was pretty sure he did, he knew his older brother would not rest until he could walk normally again and return to his job at the FBI.

Charlie knew Don found this whole situation to be very frustrating. He knew his strong older brother hated being so tired and needy. He knew Don hated being hovered over incessantly as he inevitably had been through the entire ordeal. And even though Don had seriously considered quitting the FBI just a few short months ago, Charlie knew he was chomping at the bit now to return. Don had taken the SAC job, and although there was a little less field work, Charlie knew Don had finally felt about his job like he hadn't in years - that it was where he really belonged.

But for now, Don seemed to have accepted that he was forced into taking a little time off. He was spending some much needed time relaxing and spending time with the three people he cared about most. Since leaving the hospital, Don had been living at Charlie's house, but Robin stopped by daily and often spent hours there. Today, however, Charlie had overheard her telling Don she would be working late. This week, Don had insisted she return to work, arguing that he had plenty of people taking care of him.

The issue of Charlie's return to England hadn't even been brought up yet.

Charlie was jarred out of his thoughts when he felt something soft but firm hit the back of his head. He looked down to see a pillow lying innocently on the floor. Shifting his gaze over to the couch, Charlie saw Don with his eyes glued to the baseball game as if nothing had happened. Casually, Charlie picked the pillow up off the ground and lobbed it in the general direction of Don's face.

"Hey!" Don protested. "What are you doing?"

"You hit me first," Charlie argued.

"No, I didn't," replied Don, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Whatever, bro," Charlie shot back. "That is such a lie."

Don chuckled, but fell silent for a moment before speaking up again. "Hey, so how long are you here for?"

"In California?" Charlie asked. He continued when Don nodded. "Oh, I'm not sure. Amita's covering my classes for now. Since it's just the summer term, we're not exactly overloaded with classes. But, you know, I figure I'll go back in a few weeks, once you've started physical therapy."

"Aw, Charlie." Don swallowed. "You really don't have to stay, you know. I mean, you've got your own life now. You've got a wife, a job - your _dream_ job. You don't have to stay here to take care of me. I've got Dad, and Robin-"

"Well, gosh, Don," Charlie cut him off. "It almost sounds like you don't want me here." He instantly regretted his words. _You idiot. He obviously didn't mean it like that, you jerk._

But Don was incredibly patient. "Nah, Charlie, that's not it at all. I'm really grateful you're here. And it's great to see you, too. But, I mean, you shouldn't put your life on hold for this. Especially when you're only living in England for such a short time anyways."

"Well, what did you expect, Don?" Charlie protested. "We thought you were going to die. What did you think I'd do? Stay in England until someone called to tell me when the funeral was?"

Don looked taken aback, but he didn't say anything. Charlie took a deep breath and spoke again.

"I'm sorry. It's just that - well, the day I flew out here was quite possibly the worst day of my entire life. I mean here I was, sitting in a hotel room the night before, then three airports and three airplanes with not much to do other than think about how I would be lucky if I ever even made it to Los Angeles, let alone in time to see my brother ever again."

Don furrowed his brow. "What do you mean 'if you ever made it to Los Angeles'?"

Charlie scoffed a little. "Well, you know, all that time thinking about how I might never see you again would have been bad enough. But my first flight was delayed long enough that I missed my second flight, and then I was re-routed, and I ended up getting here six hours after I was supposed to. And a lot could happen in six hours, like some infection of a gunshot wound killing my brother."

"Wow." Don frowned. "I didn't know any of that. If it had been you in the hospital and me flying halfway around the world. . . well, I can't even imagine how you must of felt. That's a lot of hours to be worrying about someone."

"Oh, you're telling me," Charlie replied sarcastically, but with a half-smile on his face. "But I can't tell you how relieved I was when I finally arrived at the hospital after all that time and you were still hanging on. And I really can't tell you how relieved I am now, with you sitting here, talking to me."

Don smiled. "Well, I don't really plan on going anywhere for awhile. You, on the other hand, need to go to England soon. That's where you belong right now. I'll still be here when you get back. I mean, the worst has already happened with you gone, so, I don't think you have to worry about anything."

"Well, I do plan on going back," Charlie told him. "I just want to make sure you're really okay before I leave."

Don looked Charlie square in the eye, his gaze so intense Charlie almost had to look away. "Charlie, buddy, I'm really okay. I mean, okay, I'll admit it, this thing with my leg really sucks. I'm really kinda dreading all the work I'm going to have to put in just to be able to walk like a normal person." Don sighed shakily, staring down at his left leg resting on a pillow as he sat on the couch.

_Wow,_ Charlie thought. _Don must be extremely terrified if he's actually admitting to mildly dreading the next few months. _

Don returned his gaze to Charlie and continued. "But I'll be fine. And I don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice any of your time in England for me. I mean this is something you've wanted for a really long time. Please don't give that up just for me."

"Don, that sounds silly coming from you," said Charlie. Don looked at him, confused. "I mean, you sacrificed everything for me. Your childhood, attention from Mom and Dad, protecting me from bullies in high school, protecting me as a consultant from the FBI. I mean, Don, back when we were trying to get my security clearance back, you almost lost your job."

"Stop right there," Don interrupted. "I wouldn't change any of those things. I like them that way. But you don't need to do that. I would be much happier if I knew you were living out your dream in England with Amita teaching your British students all sorts of cool math stuff."

Charlie smiled, suddenly aware of a lump in his throat. _There he goes, protecting me again. Some things never change._ "If that's what you really want . . . "

"That's what I really want," Don assured him, a twinkle in his eye. "Okay? Now I want you out of this house by Saturday at the latest."

"Boy, you sure don't waste any time, do you?" Charlie joked. "That's only four days from now."

Don grinned wider than Charlie had seen since he'd been home. "See? What would you do without me?"

_I don't know, Don, _Charlie answered in his head. _I asked myself that same question three weeks ago._

"So, Chuck," Don broke the small silence. "What you think the odds are of the National League winning the All-Star Game this year?"

_Not nearly as high as you being a walking anomaly time after time,_ is what Charlie thought but didn't say. _I'd say those odds are astronomical._

Instead, he gave an analysis. "Well, with the exception of a tie eight years ago, the American League hasn't lost since 1996. There are multiple factors to consider though. This year's game is played in an American League park, giving them the home field advantage, and also-"

"All right, all right," Don stopped him. "It was a simple question, Chuck. You can't even answer a simple question?"

"I was, Donald," Charlie shot back, grinning along with his brother. "It's not my fault you're not smart enough to understand."

Charlie didn't quite duck in time before the pillow was once again pitched to the back of his head. _And as always, he still knows to call me Chuck and poke fun at me when I need cheered up._

And once again, Charlie tossed the pillow right back onto Don's face. _What would__ I do without Don?_

Fortunately, Charlie wasn't going to have to find out for awhile.

FIN

* * *

Good Lord. When I started, I was thinking this would be a nice one-shot with 2 or 3 thousand words. When it turned into a 10,000 word monster I have no idea. I've never had a fic run away from me like this before! Well, I hope you enjoyed it anyways. And I'm a review junkie, so please leave some!


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